F Wilson - Implant

He watched Canney's departure, but stayed behind the fern a while longer, giving the agent plenty of time to reach his car. And giving himself time to plan his next move.

Gin was proving damnably unpredictable. He felt his nerves fraying with every passing hour that she remained out of reach. He wondered how much more of this he could take. . When had she rented the room?

How long had she been there? And where the hell was she now? Back in her apartment?

Duncan sighed. Where else could he look? He'd go back to Adams Morgan and check it out. If she wasn't there, he could see nothing else to do but go home and wait.

If he didn't find her soon, he'd have to change his plans for tomorrow.

And he did not want to do that.

J THURSDAY NIGHT GINA STUCK HER HEAD OUT THE WINDOW OF THE CAB and glanced nervously up and down Connecticut Avenue.

"Shouldn't it be here by now? " The cabby leaned against the fender by the open hood of his vehicle and puffed on a little cigar.

"I call in. He be along any minute. Any minute. You wait." She withdrew into the interior. She didn't want to stand out on the street in plain view. That was why she'd asked the driver to call her another cab. But maybe she should have risked hailing one. Dozens of cabs had passed. She'd be well on her way to Oliver's by now if she'd grabbed one.

But that call back at the hotel . . . her heart was still racing from the fright it had given her. She'd knocked over her Coke and nearly choked on a french fry when the phone had started ringing.

Maybe it had been an accident, a misdial, someone calling 533 or 432, and maybe it hadn't. Maybe it had been Duncan, God, she didn't want to think that. Or maybe it had been Gerry.

Maybe she'd never know.

Whatever its origin, the sudden jangle of the phone had completely unnerved her. She'd stared at it in horror for a few pounding heartbeats, thinking someone had found her, someone knew she was there, and then she'd bolted. No precautions, no stealth. She hadn't even waited for an elevatorX taking the stairs instead and limping through the lobby for the street.

In retrospect, now, she realized how foolish that had been. But she'd had to get out, right then, not a second later. The hotel that had been her refuge all afternoon suddenly had become a trap.

Fortunately the lobby had been empty. That had been her good luck.

Her bad luck had been picking a taxi that would gasp and die a couple of blocks from the hotel.

"He comes now, " said her driver.

Gin craned her neck and saw another Diamond cab pull up behind hers.

She jumped out, waved her thanks to her driver, and hopped into the newcomer. She gave the driver Oliver's address and was jounced back into her seat as the cab lurched ahead. She winced with the stab of pain from her left leg.

Okay. She was on her way again. No more mishaps. Really, what were the odds of having two cabs in a row break down? Astronomical. She allowed herself to relax and began rehearsing how she'd break the news to Oliver.

As the cab pulled to a stop at Dupont Circle, Gin glanced out the window to her right. A cold tingle spread across her shoulders as a black hood with a familiar three-armed ornament slid into view. She caught her breath and froze keeping The cab's rear post between herself and the other car.

Just a black Mercedes, she told herself. Thousands of them in the District.

The Mercedes inched ahead, anxious for the green. The windshield came into view, then the steering wheel and the hands gripping it. A man's hands. And then the driver himself.

Gin gasped and pressed herself back into the seat.

Duncan.

Keep calm, keep calm, he can't see you.

But he was here, not half a dozen feet away. Had he been downtown all this while? My God, she could have run into him outside the hotel.

That must have been him on the phone. But he hadn't been in the lobby.

Maybe he'd been calling all the hotels downtown asking for Gin Panzella's room. But then why was he heading away from the Tremont instead of toward it? This made no sense, no sense at all, She huddled there begging the light to turn green. When it finally did, the cab and the Mercedes entered the circle together. But halfway around, Duncan's car turned off onto Connecticut while her cab stayed on until P Street.

Gin slumped in the seat. Safe. But where was he going? Connecticut wouldn't take him home. That was the way to . . .

. . . my plate.

As the cab turned off P and took Wisconsin uphill toward Bethesda, Gin considered her options. Her original plan had been to call Oliver from her room before heading uptown. But she'd fled before making that call.

Maybe that would work to her advantage. Maybe it was better to drop in on him cold. What if he spoke to Duncan between her call and her arrival? She shuddered. Better, safer, to knock on Oliver's door and wing it from there.

She spotted the Naval Observatory on her right and knew she was getting close.

The cab turned left off Wisconsin and soon she was leaning forward, scanning the street for any sign of a black Mercedes. She couldn't imagine how Duncan could have beaten them here after turning off on Connecticut, but she'd learned the hard way never to take anything for granted where that man was concerned. No Mercedes in sight. She paid the cabby and hurried up the walk. She rang the bell, dreading to see who'd answer. Her life seemed to have turned into a Hitchcock movie. She'd be only mildly surprised if it turned out to be Duncan.

"Gin? " Oliver said as he opened the door. "What on earth are you doing here? " He pushed open the screen door for her. "Come in, come in. i "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, " Gin said, her eyes quickly searching the cluttered living room and what she could see of the dining room beyond. "You don't have company, do you? " He smiled and shut the door behind her. He wore a Vnecked sweater over his usual white shirt, and ankle-high slippers on his feet.

"No. Although I probably should have. I'm too excited about tomorrow to sleep. I'm glad you came. ' "You may not be when I'm finished. " His smile faded. "Is something wrong? " "Yes, " she said, pulling the vial from her pocket and pressing it into his hand. "This." He stared at it. "An implant? " "Yes. I dug it out of my leg this morning. ' Oliver stared at her uncomprehendingly. "What? How . . .

? " Gin decided to hit him with everything at once. She watched his expression carefully. If for even an instant he looked as if he weren't shocked, or was faking surprise, she'd be running for the door.

"Duncan jammed it into my leg last night while I was out cold. He's been after me all day trying to dissolve it with ultrasound." A tentative smile flickered across his lips. "This is a joke, right?

You and Duncan, " "It's no joke, Oliver. That thing's filled with TPD.

" "TPD? " he said, still smiling. "What's, ? " And then the smile faded.

"TPD? How could you know about TPD? " "Triptolinic diethylamide.

Duncan keeps a vial of it in his office."

"Impossible. That's a defunct compound."

"I know. Tested and discarded by GEM Pharma, your old company."

"Right. I have the last sample." -"Really? Where?

" "In my basement. I'll show you." He led her through the dining room to the kitchen, and from there down a flight of steps.

"This is my private little lab, " he said as he turned on the overhead fluorescents. "For years I spent every night of the week and every spare moment on weekends here." Gin looked around the largely unfinished basement at the benches, retorts, ovens, centrifuges, and rows of other equipment she didn't recognize, all dusty with disuse.

"Is this where . . . ? " "Uh-huh. I developed the implant membrane here. And over there . . .

" He flicked on another set of lights. "I call it my rogues' gallery.